


oh, there's a river that winds on forever (i'm gonna see where it leads)

by timelxrd



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, spacewives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:57:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22332961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelxrd/pseuds/timelxrd
Summary: Her eyes squeeze closed and, losing faith, River braces herself for a tragically un-epic death. Of all the ways to go, she’d hoped for something more exciting, more attention-seeking, more her.“Excuse me?” an unmistakenly feminine and abruptly Northern voice halts the sword in its path, garnering the surrounding guards’ attention despite the adrenaline pulsing through their veins.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/River Song
Comments: 28
Kudos: 406





	oh, there's a river that winds on forever (i'm gonna see where it leads)

There’s a book propped up atop her knees and a steaming cup of tea cradled between her palms while the Doctor skim-reads a passage on the science behind paper planes.

Nudging her reading glasses — the thick-rimmed, black pair her tenth incarnation had been besotted with — further up the bridge of her nose, she curses when an alarm springs to life inside her head and tea splashes, hot and unyielding, over the thin material. 

“Oh, _ta_ for that,” she chides into the library’s sprawling ceiling, but it doesn’t stop her abandoning the book and mug to half-jog through the corridor to the console room. 

Skipping the last three steps so she can skid into place in front of the scanner, the Doctor gives into the adrenaline already surging familiarly through her very bones. 

“What have you got for me this time, sexy?” 

When the TARDIS grumbles around her, the Doctor agrees with a scrunch of her nose. “Don’t like it much either, anymore. How’s _sis_ ? _Queen_ ? _Bro_? Just — we’ll just stick with old girl, shall we?” 

The ship’s answering wheeze brings a somewhat bashful smile to the face of its pilot. “Old girl it is. Now, more importantly, what’s the alarm for?” 

Springing to the screen, a message captures her attention. 

_In a bit of a pickle._

_Could do with a hand or two._

_No, this is not a booty call._

_Come quick - RS x_

Reaching out to steady herself against the console when she reads and re-reads the initials until they’re seared to the space behind her eyelids, the Doctor’s breathy gasp is loud in the quiet. “River?”

* * *

The blade presses sharp and firm to her throat when River swallows, cuffed hands sly in their messaging where they’re restrained behind her. 

“Honestly, I really don’t know what the big issue is here.” 

“Professor Song, you stole Queen Jerica’s crown jewels—”

“I was borrowing them!”

“ — and threatened to set the lions on her soldiers —”

“It’s not my fault you can’t tame them.” 

“ — and then proceeded to cut up her wedding cake and help yourself to a slice before her wedding _tomorrow._ ”

“I was hungry,” River shrugs, curls bobbing with the motion. “And it was _delicious_.” 

The head of the monarch’s guards bristles, shaking his head and nicking at the skin of her throat in the process. “You are sentenced to death for treason.” 

Hissing, River wilts, eyes closing in silent prayer for her synonymously awfully-timed husband to make his appearance. “Doctor, if you’re here, now would be the _perfect_ time to intrude on the occasion.”

With a scoff, the leader — a bald, Scottish man with eyebrows similar to the bloke in question — tilts his head down at her. “No doctor can help you now, ma’am.” 

The blade moves, slipping from her throat to raise in the air above her while strong arms shove her head forward, baring the back of her neck to the descent of sharp metal. 

Her eyes squeeze closed and, losing faith, River braces herself for a tragically un-epic death. Of all the ways to go, she’d hoped for something more exciting, more attention-seeking, more _her._

“Excuse me?” an unmistakenly feminine and abruptly Northern voice halts the sword in its path, garnering the surrounding guards’ attention despite the adrenaline pulsing through their veins. 

When River glances up, she catches only a flash of dark, hooded cape and weathered brown boots but makes a mental note to thank the woman _thoroughly_ for her potential escape opportunity. 

“I’ve been sent here by her majesty to conduct the imprisonment and detention of one professor River Song?” 

“But — ma’am, who are you? She never mentioned —” 

“No worries, gentlemen. I’m a private executioner and I can take this from here. As for your questions, I’m sure her majesty would be happy to explain the situation to you if you do so wish, but I can’t promise she’ll be happy about you doubting her trust.” 

Her voice is stern and confident enough to leave the guards wordless, so the hooded figure continues on unburdened. “Now, will you let her go so I can escort her to the nearest form of transport?” 

When River listens in properly, after her initial shock, she deduces the woman’s tone as amused more than anything. The way she says her name shouldn’t feel so familiar, yet as it continues to fester and niggle at the back of her head, she can’t help but look up in an attempt to peer under her hood and seek out a defined face. 

Warily, the guards step down, beginning to disperse while a surprisingly strong arm hooks under River’s arm to guide her to her feet. There’s a surprising gentleness to her hold, which she adds to her growing list of suspicions. 

“Thanks, lads. Pleasure doing work with you,” the hooded woman chimes, granting River a moment to steady herself on her feet before she starts leading her towards the encroaching pine forest. “Have a lovely day and try not to chop off any more heads!”

“Do I know you?” River finally manages once the village is at their back and the forest envelopes them. It’s warm and dry and the scent of fresh lavender is a welcome addition. 

With a faint whirr, the shackles holding her wrists together click open and, with a flourish, the figure slips free from her hood, casting the black material over one shoulder to show off a rainbow-emblazoned jumper and yellow suspenders. 

“Pretty sweaty under there, gotta say. Kudos to the headless monks — but they don’t really have a head to sweat from, so I guess that makes it easier. Can you sweat even if you’re headless? Like — phantom sweat? No, that just sounds silly, _although_ …” 

While the other woman is caught up in her own ramble, River has time to scan her unpredictably pretty features, rubbing her reddened wrists while they walk — where to, she has no idea. The road was in the opposite direction, so either the woman is unfamiliar with the area, or she’s just _acting_ dumb.

“You didn’t answer my question,” River probes, breathing a faint scoff when the blonde trips over a fallen branch but hastily rights herself. “Who are you? And why are you really here?” 

The blonde’s sudden halt in her tracks forces River to bump into her shoulder with a faint _oof_ , and when she turns to her, she’s surprised to see a frankly quite endearing frown on her face. 

“Is it the teeth?” the blonde questions, dead-pan, reaching a hand up to poke and prod at pearly whites, then sweep her arms back to settle her hands on her hips. “It’s always the teeth, I swear.” 

“I’m sorry, what does my question have to do with your teeth?” 

“It’s _me,_ River,” she counters, brows pinched. 

Clueless and confused, the curly-haired woman raises her hands as if to say _and?_ “Yes, and who _are_ you?” 

“You really don’t recognise me?”

Momentarily, River decides hurt does _not_ suit such soft features. 

“Nope.”

“Right. Okay then.” Kicking a twig at her feet like a child training their frustration, the blonde leads on with a huff. “Follow me. I’ll show you.” 

Despite the fact she’s free to do as she pleases, now, River can’t help her curiosity. Allowing the blonde a few paces between them, she follows at a slow pace to cater to the gnawing ache in her side and the stinging sensation at her neck. 

It’s only when she lifts a hand to her throat and lets it come away crimson-stained that she remembers how close she was to her last breaths. So, jogging forward a few steps despite her protesting limbs, she snags at the blonde’s coat. “Thank you, by the way.” 

“For what?” the other woman responds with a tilt of her head, green eyes warm despite her lingering sense of kicked-puppy-like disappointment. 

“For stepping in when you did,” River divulges, falling into step beside her — the mysterious woman must’ve slowed her pace to suit her, and she finds the idea more thoughtful than she should. “Probably would’ve breathed my last breaths today if it weren’t for you.” 

“I would never let that happen,” she hears the blonde state firmly, expression set in determination and palms curling into fists at her sides. 

Before she can question it, though, in a gap between two trees, deep, familiar blue catches her eye. 

“It can’t be.”

“Oh, it very well _is,_ River.” 

She’s slow on approach, tentative and unsure as if heading towards a baby dear or a shy wren. But when the whirring hum and pulse of the ship echoes through her thoughts, she basks in the melodies she’s become acutely accustomed to. 

“Wait — wait, so you must be—” River starts, whirling around to face the now beaming blonde. She folds her arms, arching a perfect brow. “His companions really haven’t gotten any older, have they?” 

Shaking her head in fond amusement, she slips her key free from her pocket and steps up to the doors alongside River. “I’ll take that as a compliment, _”_ she drawls, wetting her lips in preparation for the term of endearment she’s not used in decades. “ — sweetie.”

Lips parted around empty words, River’s eyes couldn’t grow any wider even if they tried. 

“Gotcha,” the Doctor quips, twisting her key in the lock and nudging the door open with a booted foot. She leans against the frame while River’s brain catches up with her mouth, features turning from smug to bashful in a heartbeat. “Hello, sweetie.” 

River reels with the soft hitch of breath she draws from her wife when she raises a hand to brush her fingers along a prominent jaw. “It’s really you?” 

The Doctor leans into the touch enough to encourage her palm to settle against her cheek, thumb gracing a strong cheekbone and coaxing green eyes to blink slow and lazy like a feline. “Doesn’t this feel real to you?” 

“If you knew how many times a day I imagine seeing you again, you’d understand why I might be doubting this,” River breathes the words on a sigh. 

She has to force a swallow when the Doctor turns her head to press a tender kiss to her palm, then reach up to cover her hand with a cooler counterpart. “Still doubting it?” 

Teary smile making the transition to familiar flirtation, River stifles a laugh at the pinkening shade to her wife’s face when she closes the remaining distance between them with one smooth step. “I think I might need a little extra persuasion.” 

“Oh, yeah?” the Doctor remarks, but it’s more breathy than suggestive. She seems to be making an effort to glance at both her lips and eyes at the same time, but it just ends up looking like she’s having some kind of seizure. 

In the end, when River is close enough to brush noses, she closes her eyes to save what little composure she has left. 

Lips pursing, the Doctor is left flushed and trembling when a simple breeze sweeps over them rather than moulding pressure. 

“You’ve redecorated,” River announces halfway towards the console, glancing back to flash her frozen wife an entirely too smug grin. “I like it.” 

Freshly composed two minutes and thirteen seconds later, the Doctor slips the door closed and joins her wife at the control panels, nabbing her favourite sugary treat on the way around. “Custard cream?” 

River’s laugh is music to her ears. “ _Seriously_?” 

“ _What?_ ” the Doctor huffs, faux-offence translating into the sort of tone a teenager uses when asked to help with the washing up. 

“You haven’t changed a bit,” River remarks fondly, observing her wife’s expression as it turns to putty.

“In a good way, I hope?” the Doctor probes, swiping crumbs from her jumper and grumbling when some cling stubbornly to the material. In the process of dusting the rest free, she bumps her hip against a crystal pillar with a yelp. 

Heaving an amused sigh, River leans against the newly redesigned console. “In the best way.”

It’s only when ducking down to begrudgingly steal another biscuit that the Doctor spots the drying blood still clinging to her wife’s throat. With a gasp, she straightens up. “You’re hurt.”

“Oh, this?” River gestures to her neck, where the cut has almost entirely clotted already. “It’s just a scratch. Nothing to worry about.” 

When the Doctor sweeps over to take a look, she bats her away like a fly. “Doctor, I’m _fine.”_

In the process, though, the Doctor spots the rings of crimson circling her wrist. It’s safe to assume the other hand is the same. “ _River.”_

“Doctor,” River replies in the same tone, meeting her gaze in stubborn determination. “I’m fine. Besides,” she reaches out, thumb brushing her hip. “I still haven’t taken a tour of this body yet.”

As distracting as she is, the Doctor blinks out of her spell. “Let me take care of you first. And no arguing — you know I’m not going to give in.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Doctor,” River purrs, sending a shudder down her wife’s spine when her fingers slip beneath the material of her jumper to grace her hip properly. “You’re usually awfully good for me.”

“ _River,”_ the Doctor chides, her swallow audible, pupils dark. “I’m not giving in.”

“Spoilsport,” River huffs, but it’s teasing more than anything. “ _Fine_.” 

“Thank you, sweetie,” the Doctor whispers through a sigh of relief, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek before she steps back. “C’mon, med-bay. Now.” 

* * *

Gentle hands tip her chin up so cool, soothing gel can melt over the neat line of red at the base of her neck, while tentatively, the Doctor tends to her wounds. 

“I wish you’d at least _try_ to stay out of trouble more often,” she murmurs distractedly when, satisfied with the way the skin pinkens in seconds, she lifts River’s hands up for inspection. 

“Says you,” River counters, as predicted, coaxing a scrunch of her wife’s nose and a huff of protest. 

“This hurt?” the Doctor questions softly, eyeing the torn skin of both wrists as though she’s personally to blame. 

“Not real—” River starts, but the blonde’s tender gaze stops her. “They’re a bit sore, yes.” 

The answering pressure of a kiss against the pulse inside her wrist makes her shoulders ease and her heartbeat lessen, then flutter. “This might sting.” 

“I trust you.”

Cold, sodden gel greets the curves of her wrists in succession and the Doctor soon slips onto the edge of the bed beside her in order to effectively continue. 

Through a hiss, River flexes her fingers, ghosting her thumb over the matching double-beat pulse where her wife’s arm meets her palm. 

Sensing her anxiety, the Doctor shuffles up so their thighs are aligned, the extra pressure and warmth a reminder of her presence. “I’m here, River, I’m real.”

“I know,” River breathes, the sound melding into a sigh when the numbing, fast-working gel kicks into action, leaving the constant throb a distant ache. 

“There we go,” the Doctor hums, letting River draw her hands up for a closer look. The previously bluey-purple rings around her wrists have faded to a persistent pink, and the ache is on its way out of her bones. “As good as new. Pretty ace stuff, that, isn’t it? Apparently, it’s such a thin consistency that it passes through the skin and fixes every burst blood vessel and damage to the layers until it reaches the top again, like a house with plasterers in, starting from the botto— _mmph!”_

Any further storytelling melts into the depths of River’s mouth when she bridges the gap and cuts her off with a kiss, explorative but cautionary as though handling precious goods.

It’s too brief for the Doctor’s liking when River draws back, foreheads coming to rest together. 

“Still got it,” River hums, warm breaths flirting over her wife’s lips. When she blinks up into the Doctor’s hazy eyes and dazed expression, she can’t help the rumble of laughter which climbs free from her throat. “You’re new, aren’t you?”

“Fairly,” the Doctor whispers, gaze darting to full lips while her tongue swipes quickly along her own. 

River can feel the quickening four-beat rhythm in her ears and it makes her smirk. Nudging the tip of her nose alongside the Doctor’s freckle-dusted counterpart, she sighs her next question. “So was that your first kiss in this body?”

“Uh,” her wife stammers, seeking out her lips and grumbling faintly when River ducks back each time. “Yes. It was, yeah. Can we do it again?” 

A sense of pride envelops River’s form before she finally gives in, a warm palm at the back of her wife’s neck drawing her in for another kiss. 

She’s soft in all the right places and yielding beneath her touch when she winds an arm around her waist and turns to face her better, reeling from the delighted little hums and sighs she coaxes from her lips.

The Doctor is the first to deepen the kiss, sweeping a hand into wild curls and shuffling up until her knees bump into her wife’s thigh, overwhelmed with a yearning for closer contact. 

By the time they break apart again, she’s climbed almost entirely into her wife’s lap in her enthusiasm. She drops her forehead to River’s shoulder to gather her wits back, fingers still clenched tightly into her blouse as though she’ll disappear in an instant. 

When plush lips grace the elegant slope of her neck, though, any composition she has trained dissipates. 

“We should probably — we should probably talk about this,” the Doctor murmurs breathily, tipping her head to the side to lose herself to more of those wonderful kisses. 

“And give this precious time up to melancholy?” River counters rhetorically, plucking her blue jumper from her trousers and slipping a hand beneath to grasp her waist. Her suspenders have already pooled at her hips. “Later, sweetie.” 

Giving in to a shudder, the Doctor tilts her head to capture familiar lips once more. “Later sounds — sounds good. Yeah. Brilliant. Love that word, _later.”_

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!! feedback is always appreciated!!


End file.
